Imagination
by Katie Grey
Summary: Harry, a young boy living in a cupboard, dreams of witches and wizards. But will dreams be enough to save him? WARNING: Child abuse. AU.


Imagination

As always, please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own HP

For the purpose of this story, Harry's birthday is May 31 instead July 31.

WARNING: Child abuse.

Special thanks to my awesome Beta, Child of Music and Dreams.

()()()

A huge man lived next door.  
At Number Three, Privet Drive.  
His hair fell in chaos around his face, and his beard was wild and snarled.  
He owned a motorcycle, and a big dog.

Harry peeped through the dirty window at him.  
The big man was on his motorcycle again, speeding down the road.  
His hair was covered by a black helmet, and he was wearing black leather.

Perhaps his motorcycle could fly.

Yes, that would be nice.  
A flying motorcycle.  
Harry could imagine it taking off, zooming through the clouds in a blaze of smoke.  
Wheels turning, churning the air.  
Its motor roaring.  
He looked closer at the motorcycle.

The license plate read, "HAGRID".  
Perhaps that should be the man's name. Hagrid.

"Boy! Get down here this instant!"  
Was that the roar of the motor?  
No, those were words.

Regretfully, Harry got out of his bed and opened the cupboard door.  
He was met, as always, by the same bare walls.  
The same house.  
The same shouts of his uncle, and the same elbow in the stomach from Dudley.  
"Hurry up!" Dudley squealed.  
"I want bacon!"  
And bacon he got.

While Dudley opened his presents, Harry glanced out the window.  
Hagrid was gone.  
But there was a cat, creeping along in the grass.  
It had white fur with spots, and its feet were black.  
They looked a lot like shoes.  
Harry laughed at that thought.

"Boy! What are you laughing about?"  
His uncle stood, towering over him.  
Harry ducked as the fist came down.  
Like a huge, iron ball.  
It kept on coming, and banged him in the head.

Everything rung.  
Like a school bell.  
Harry's school, the state school, had a school bell.

He didn't like his school much.  
He wished that they would teach more interesting subjects.  
And more important things, like how to get the ringing out of your head, and how to cook bacon faster, and how to turn your cousin into a pig.

Harry laughed at that thought.  
Although, his cousin did kind of look like a pig already.  
He thought of Dudley sporting a pink pig tail, and nearly laughed out loud.  
If only he could make his cousin grow one.

()()()

The zoo.  
It was a city.  
An animal city.  
Harry wanted to see everything, but Dudley was only interested in the Reptile House.  
And so it was there that they went.  
But the snakes wouldn't move.

Dudley went over to an especially large snake, a boa constrictor.  
The sign said that its name was Nagini. It was huge, and beautiful, and green.  
It coiled smoothly around a log.

"Stop it!" Harry cried, when Dudley and Vernon banged on the glass.  
Oh, if only the glass would disappear.  
Then they would fall in.

Harry could see it.  
Dudley, soggy and wet in the little pool of water in the snake's habitat.  
Vernon cursing as he tried to pull Dudley out.  
What if the glass came back, and Dudley was trapped?  
That thought filled Harry with even more glee.  
He could just imagine Dudley and his aunt and uncle screaming and screaming and pounding on the glass.  
The snake would slither away, happy and free.

It painted a beautiful picture in Harry's mind.  
Oh, if only the glass could disappear like that.  
Like magic.

()()()

During history class, Harry drew pictures.  
Pictures of Nagini, the snake.  
Of the cat with shoes.  
Of the big man, Hagrid, on his motorcycle.

The history teacher, Mrs. McGonagall, interrupted his drawing by taking his pencil.  
"I suggest you pay attention, Harry.  
This is an important lesson."

It couldn't be all that important to learn about people who weren't even alive anymore, could it?  
He would learning about dead men and women who had done something great, long ago, but that was over and done with.  
They weren't here now.  
Nothing could bring back the dead.  
Just like nothing could bring back his parents, who were killed in a car accident.  
It would be much more important to learn about how to turn people into cats, wouldn't it?  
He giggled at the thought of Mrs. McGonagall turning into that cat on the driveway, black sock-feet and all.

McGonagall glared at him, and stalked to the front of the room.  
People said that she looked like a witch, and she did.  
She had a little wart on the end of her nose. Just like a witch.  
Maybe she had a broom, and a black cat, and a high-pitched evil cackle.  
He thought of her black dress billowing across the moon.  
And a witch's hat, of course.  
He would draw that when he got home.

Harry stared out of the bus's window.  
It was littered with dead bugs.  
All around him kids talked and laughed and threw paper airplanes, and the bus driver, Mr. Filch, shouted at them to be quiet.

Through the window he could see familiar shops.  
"Ollivander's Bakery."  
"The Hogwarts Cafe."  
Then he gasped.  
There was Hagrid!  
His hair was as bushy and wild as ever, and he was wearing a shirt with a dragon on it.  
Hagrid must like dragons a lot.

Harry watched as Hagrid entered the Hogwarts Cafe, and then the bus turned a corner and it was all out of sight.  
He sighed.

They turned down Malfoy Street, and a boy with hair so blonde that it was almost white got out.  
He was followed by his twin brothers, who looked extremely different.  
They were fat and were both brunettes.  
While Harry knew their names, he didn't think that they were very interesting.  
The fat boys' names were Ben and Parker, while the boy with platinum blonde hair was named Connor.  
How boring can you get?

Harry saw words on the back of the two twins' shirts.  
They were football jerseys, he realized, with the last names of football players sewn on.  
The shirts said, "Crabbe" and "Goyle".  
Those would be good names.  
The blonde boy wasn't wearing a jersey, however, and Harry couldn't think of a name for him.

The next stop was Parkinson Road.  
A girl with silky brown hair and headphones got up to leave, making sure to bump into Harry on the way.  
Hard.  
He didn't know her name, but her shirt had a flower on it.  
Pansy.

()()()

"Get up!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, rapping on the door.  
Her hair was up in curlers, and she was wearing a robe with cats all over it.

Harry stumbled out the door, still foggy with sleep.  
Vernon thundered into the room, his stomach bulging out.  
He back-handed Harry across the face.

It was all pain for a moment, and Harry waited patiently for the pain to go away.  
He would probably have a red mark on his face at school, but that wasn't unusual.

Dudley was sitting there, amusement written all over his pig-face.  
Harry imagined him with a pig's tail again, and that helped.  
Oh, if only he could make Dudley grow a pig-tail.  
It would be like... like...  
Like magic.

Harry didn't have time to think this notion over, because Petunia was dragging him outside.  
"Paint the fence!" she snarled.  
"We'll be at the movies until twelve, and you'd better have lunch ready!"  
Harry nodded.  
Petunia glared at him, and trotted back to the house.  
She looked remarkably horse-like, Harry thought.  
Remarkably so.

Her curlers bounced and her robe billowed, and Harry couldn't help laughing.  
She turned.  
"What are you laughing at!" she screeched.  
Harry had to cover his ears.  
"No lunch or dinner for you!" she sneered.  
She laughed when Harry's face fell, and marched back to the house.

She was a witch, plain and simple.  
A witch... Harry thought about this.  
 _If she's a witch, then I'm a wizard!_  
He smiled at this new thought.  
Perhaps he would have a long beard and twinkly eyes.  
No, he wouldn't.  
But there had to be at least one wizard with a long beard and twinkly eyes.  
But what would his name be?

He thought and thought as he painted the fence, but couldn't think of anything.  
Perhaps that man would be friends with McGonagall, who could change into a cat?  
Maybe he would be friends with Hagrid, too.  
That made Harry smile.

But a man that kind and twinkly needed more friends than that.  
He needed loads of them!  
Hundreds!  
But where could anyone get that many?

Magic.

Harry added another swab of white to the fence.  
Of course, that man would live in a huge castle with all of his friends.  
What would the castle be called?  
Harry thought back to the bus ride.  
Ollivander's!  
No, no.  
That was awful.

Hogwarts.

Yes.

But something wasn't right.  
Hogwarts couldn't just be a castle where a bunch of friends lived.  
What would they do for a job?  
Would they mow lawns and paint fences, like Harry?

Think more... magical.

How about magic.  
Their jobs would be magic.  
They would all teach magic in the castle.  
That sounded fun, and Harry wished he could go to Hogwarts as well.  
He would wear a hat and a robe and he would bring along a pet.

Think more... magical.

A wand!

Yes, yes, yes!

Harry pumped his fist in the air, spilling paint all over.  
It landed in the grass.  
It landed on Harry.  
It landed on Dudley's new kite, which was black and red and now spotted with white paint.  
It looked like bird droppings.

Harry grabbed the kite as fast as he could and tried to rub the spots off, but that just made it worse.  
If only he had a wand.  
If only he had magic! He would say, "Abracadabra!" and the spots would come off, just like that!  
But he couldn't.

Harry bit his lip, willing himself not to cry.  
Perhaps he could do magic when he was older.  
Say, eleven.  
Then he would surely be able to do magic, and go to Hogwarts.

But he wasn't eleven yet, his birthday was still two weeks away.  
And the fence was half-finished.  
And the kite had white spots all over it.  
And the Dursley's were pulling into the driveway.

()()()

Harry lay on his bed.  
He just lay there.  
He couldn't move.  
He felt numb.  
Everything hurt.

()()()

Spiders.  
Harry brushed them off.  
He was used to spiders.  
They couldn't hurt him.  
They didn't have great big iron balls for fists.  
They didn't hit him over and over and over when he failed to paint the fence, and made a certain kite look like birds had left dropping all over it.  
He couldn't understand why some people even bothered being afraid of spiders, when there were so many other, worse things to be afraid of.

Harry only had one week left until he would go to Hogwarts.  
Until then, he resigned himself to painting fences and mowing lawns.  
This wouldn't last much longer.  
He would go to Hogwarts soon, and then it would all be all right.  
He would learn magic there, and then he would be able to control his relatives.  
He would make sure to give Dudley a pig tail.  
And he would turn Aunt Petunia into a horse...or maybe a toad, since she looked so much like both.  
And Uncle Vernon...  
To Uncle Vernon he would do his worst.

He peeped out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hagrid.  
Instead, he saw a big black dog.

What if the dog was a person, too?  
Just like the cat?  
If the dog were a person, it would be a nice person.  
A person who would be nice to Harry.  
Who would ask Harry to go and live with him.

That would be fun.

()()()

Six days.  
Only six.  
Harry lay in his cupboard.  
His stomach was like a huge cavern.  
It was so dark and empty.  
"Get up!" Petunia shrieked, rapping on the door.  
Toad.

()()()

"All right class, our word of the day is, 'Umbrage.'  
Repeat after me, 'Umbrage.'  
Umbrage means 'offense' or, 'annoyance'," the grammar teacher, Mr. Flitwick, droned on as he wrote on the board. U-M-B-R-A-G-E.  
"Spelling test tomorrow!"

()()()

Harry still hadn't eaten.  
He threw up at lunch.

Five more days until Hogwarts.

()()()

Spelling Test – Grade 5  
Name: Harry Potter  
Age:10, almost 11

Spell:  
Holaday  
Sirius  
Ginger  
Scorpiun  
Pretzil  
Umbridge  
Butterfly  
Snape

()()()

Mr. Flitwick asked Harry to stay after class.  
He placed his arm on his shoulder, and Harry winced.  
But he didn't notice.

"Harry," he said, gently.  
"You got nearly all of the words wrong.  
I want to go over them with you."

He got up and wrote on the board:

HOLIDAY  
SERIOUS  
SCORPION  
PRETZEL  
UMBRAGE  
SNAKE

Harry wrote it all down.

"Now, Harry,"  
He turned to looked at Harry, but Harry averted his eyes.  
Flitwick sighed.  
"You are usually a good student, Harry.  
You wouldn't normally get so many wrong, would you?"  
Harry shook his head.  
"What happened?"  
Harry shrugged, and pushed his notebook with the drawings of Hagrid, Hogwarts, witches and wizards, wands and broomsticks, and the wizard with the twinkly eyes out of view.  
Four more days.

()()()

McGonagall would teach how to change things.  
How to change one thing into another.  
Flitwick would teach charms, instead of grammar.  
Hagrid would teach about dragons and trolls.  
Sirius, the dog, would ask Harry to go and live with him.  
Lupin, the werewolf, would teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
Harry drew and drew and drew.

()()()

"Get up!" Petunia shrieked at the top of her lungs.  
Uncle Vernon pounded down the stairs, and dust fell from the ceiling onto Harry's head.  
If only he had his wand.  
He would float them onto the ceiling.

Vernon flung the door open and dragged Harry out by the hair.  
"Marge is coming, and everything needs to be perfect!" he growled.  
"Get started!"

Harry made the bacon.  
He mowed the lawn.  
He finished painting the fence.  
He cleaned the house.  
Then Vernon opened the door and in walked Marge. She was just as fat as Vernon.  
She would make a good balloon.  
If only I had a wand.  
Harry would send Marge floating up to the ceiling if he had his wand.  
Oh, well, he could do it when he came back from Hogwarts.  
Three more days.

()()()

Oh, yes, Harry would have fun at Hogwarts.  
He would make friends and learn magic.  
He would kill trolls and dragons.  
He would like to kill a troll.  
Would he be a hero, then?

If wizards were magical, then perhaps they could bring back the dead.  
Bring back Harry's parents.  
Maybe his parents had been magical, too?  
Maybe they hadn't been drunk and worthless.  
Maybe they were powerful at magic, and had been heroes, too, just like Harry was going to be.  
Harry was going to save the world.  
Just like his parents.  
Two more days.

()()()

His stomach was a cavern.  
A cave.  
Gnawing at him, tearing him apart like a furious beast, like a werewolf.  
Like a snake.  
Like a demon.  
It tore at him, eating him up.

Harry couldn't move, couldn't breathe.  
He didn't have to wait much longer.  
Soon he would go to Hogwarts.

He would play games with iron balls like his Uncle's fist.  
A ball that was thrown back and forth.  
And a golden ball that flew.

He would make friends.  
One with red hair and a fear of spiders.  
Another with bushy hair and plenty of smarts.  
A girl with long blonde hair and radish earrings.  
A boy with a frog named Trevor and a fear of just about everything.

He would learn magic from all of his professors.  
McGonagall, Flitwick, Trelawney, Lupin, Hagrid, Snape.  
And Dumbledore, the headmaster.  
His name meant 'bumblebee' in another language.

He would save the world from the evil wizard with dark magic.  
The wizard who killed his parents.  
The wizard who couldn't kill Harry, but only gave him a scar.

Harry grabbed a marker and made a jagged line on his forehead.  
He grabbed a mirror and stared at his new scar.  
It was a bolt of lightning.

He would be the Chosen One.  
He would be the-Boy-Who-Lived.  
He would be the Savior of the Wizarding World.  
He would find the Sorcerer's Stone.  
He would find the Chamber of Secrets.  
He would win the Triwizard Tournament.  
He would kill the Dark Lord, Voldemort.  
One day left.

()()()

When the authorities arrived in response to Mary McGonagall and Florian Flitwick's calls, they found a row of houses that looked nearly identical.  
They were all boring, normal houses.

There it was, Number 4 Privet Drive.  
A man zoomed by on a motorcycle.  
A cat walked past, tail in the air.  
A big black dog padded by.

They entered the building.  
There was a boy who looked like a pig.  
There was a woman who looked like a toad and a horse.  
There was a man who looked like a beached whale.  
There was a cabinet with locks on the door.  
There was a bed with a thin blanket.  
And there was a young boy.  
Age eleven.  
Wild black hair and brilliant green eyes and a scribble of red marker on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.  
Dead.  
With a smile on his face.


End file.
